


the soft trembling shoulders

by angryelftwink



Series: Zevraholics OC-tober [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Post-Dragon Age II Quest - Demands of the Qun, non-Hawke mage Hawke, self harm tw (blood magic), tldr in my main canon one of my Hawkes is an Amell. no not that one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryelftwink/pseuds/angryelftwink
Summary: Dianthe Amell was captured by the Qunari, until her cousin saved them all.It's going to be a long night for everyone.
Relationships: Fenris/nonHawke f!Hawke
Series: Zevraholics OC-tober [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954384
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	the soft trembling shoulders

She stood alone in barren streets, a mess of red hair and torn and rumpled silks. A bottle hung loosely from her graceless, porcelain fingers.

“Dianthe,” Fenris called, his heart pounding. He’d tried to stay calm after learning, tried to ignore that _Hightown nobles_ meant, to him, only _Dianthe Amell._

She turned, and in an instant she was on him, the bottle clattering down to the cobblestones. Dianthe was in his arms, her face buried in his shoulders, and he held her as he hadn’t since that night.

“There you are, Fenris,” she murmured. “Took you long enough.”

He chuckled bitterly, rubbing slowly between her shoulderblades. “I fear I would not have been much use, running in to your defense. Your cousin quite had that covered, it seems.”

“Yes. Hawke.” She took a deep breath and, shuddering, went even limper into his chest.

It was so foreign. Dianthe, eternally powerful and in control. She had lost that control at the hands of the Qunari, and her breath stank of beer.

“Walk me home, Fenris,” she told the nape of his neck. “Mine or yours. Whatever, as long as you’ll be there when I wake this time. Just this once.”

He ran his fingers through the base of her tangled curls. “Your family would surely worry if you did not return, and I doubt they would appreciate my presence.”

“Void take you, Fenris.” She unsteadily pulled herself back, standing firm and attempting to straighten her skirts. “All they’ll do is remind me. Tell me how nearly I was any of them, my cousins in every fucking Circle in Thedas. And I know it. But they don’t.” Her head tilted. “ _You_ know.”

He stepped back, and caught a glimpse of red. “You’re injured.”

Dianthe drunkenly pulled away, tried to hide her injured palm, but he was sober and managed to take her hands.

Ugly, scabbed nail marks all over her palms. No wonder she could barely hold a bottle.

“Dianthe, these need to be cleaned.” He reached for some of the ragged pieces of overskirt, but caught himself. Most of the city was on fire, but he did know one place he could expect to find help right now in Hightown. “I will take you to Hawke’s estate. Is that amenable?”

She tugged her hands back and rubbed them on her skirts, refusing to meet his eye. “And you’ll leave me there.”

“No. If I leave, you will simply come find me.” He reached out a hand. “Your wounds need tended.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, still staring at the ground. It stung, looking at her like this, and it had since the night he’d walked away. The fact they both understood each other’s feelings perfectly had never done anything to lessen the pain.

Fenris touched Dianthe’s shoulder, and slowly guided her back to his chest. She welcomed it just as slowly, but soon took a deep, shuddering breath into his chest. She sobbed.

“I didn’t want you to see.”

“I know.” He began to guide her through the streets of Hightown, dusty from the chaos and pale from the evening stars.

There was time to feel disgust later, when he knew what she had done. Yet when he thought about it now, about how trapped she had been, about what the Qunari did to mages—he could feel only sadness. Of course she would have lashed out. Of course.

What mattered was getting her to the estate. What Dianthe needed would be there. Anything more complex than what Dianthe needed at that moment would wait.

Dianthe stumbled through the door, past Gamlen Amell.

“Maker, what are _you_ doing here?” he asked, staring as Dianthe made her way into the nearest armchair.

“She has sustained injuries,” Fenris said, nodding politely.

“They’re not that bad.” She attempted her best to sit properly, but the slouch was undeniable. “Hello, Uncle Gamlen.”

“Oh.” He squirmed slightly. “Er. The mage healer’s with Hawke. I’ll… see if he can come see you after, then.”

Gamlen stopped halfway up the stairs. “And… good to see both of you alive.” He nodded, then hurried his way up the stairs.

Fenris knelt on the carpet, beside the chair Dianthe sat in. “How fortunate. The healer is here.”

“Hawke needs him.” She moaned and committed fully to slouching against the arm of the chair. “What that Qunari bastard did—I wasn’t good enough, Fenris. I did all I could to help him—it was all I could do…”

He placed his hand over hers. “Hawke was victorious, and he will be fine.”

“I’m not like you, not like any of you. I’m no wilting flower, I can take a bit of blood, but _that_ … It all resting on him, knowing if they caught me they’d… they’d… and knowing if I failed…” She shook her hair, another lock coming free of the pins. “I had to use blood. I wasn’t powerful enough…”

Fenris tried to swallow the knot in his throat. To help Hawke. She’d done it to help Hawke, who was probably still half-conscious upstairs with half his guts about to fall out.

“Hawke lived. I’d say that means you’re powerful enough. I shudder to think what could have happened otherwise.”

Dianthe let out a slow breath, lifting her lashes to meet his eyes. “I was afraid. And if…”

“I pity the demon that tries to force its will on _you_.” He forced himself to, just slightly, smile. “If Merrill has been in Kirkwall for four years meddling in dark magics and faced no more demons than the rest of us, I believe you, of all people, should be safe.”

“Never thought I’d see the day.”

They both turned to see Anders, coatless and impossibly weary, standing in the hallway. He forced a wan smile and made his way towards Dianthe.

“Hawke is doing well,” he said, still listless. Fenris stood to let the mage begin his work.

“Good,” Dianthe said.

There was near silence for a time, Fenris examining the portraits on the wall. He was unsure why he was so uncomfortable with this. Maybe it was simply that the nightmare was over, and there was nothing left but thought and consequence. Fenris was always uncomfortable in aftermaths. He was a tool, to be put back on the shelf after the work, not to sit and live in what came of it.

“I was helping too,” said Anders.

“What?”

“I was healing Hawke. Just a little.” Anders went quiet again. “Just a little.”

Quiet again. Then, “I sapped the Arishok’s strength and added some to Hawke’s, when he needed it.”

“Some of your own too, I see.”

“I wasn’t the one fighting a Qunari behemoth.”

“There you are. Not a scratch on you.” Anders stood. “I’ll… leave you two. Varric is upstairs, if you’d like me to…”

“Tell him that I am fine.” Fenris paused. “No. Tell him that I would like to play a round of Wicked Grace.”

Anders snorted. “That should cheer him up.”

“Someone get me a drink, then,” Dianthe said. “It’s not a game of Wicked Grace with Varric unless I’m sloshed.”

“I’ll see if Messere Feddic plays, and fetch Gamlen.”

Fenris brushed his hand against Dianthe’s as he left the room.

She was slouched in the chair still, messy and spent and, he knew, full of pain that would last far beyond this night. If he could have, Fenris would have added some of his own strength to hers.

Wicked Grace, for now, would do.


End file.
